


The Vegan and His Pratmate...errr Flatmate

by pezzax



Series: Pratmates [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attraction, Canonical Character Death, Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Geeky, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, POV Arthur, Past Character Death, Pre-Slash, References to Marvel/MCU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-11-06 14:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pezzax/pseuds/pezzax
Summary: Arthur was only doing a favor for Lance by letting his friend move in temporarily, but he didn't realize just how much having a flatmate would change his life.





	1. The Vegan and His Pratmate...errr Flatmate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pelydryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelydryn/gifts), [Clea2011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/gifts), [Camelittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/gifts).



> I dedicate this, my very first Merlin story, to Pelydryn, Clea2011, and Camelittle, whose stories inspire me, and whose encouragement kept me going when my inspiration lagged. I hope that you enjoy it!!
> 
> As we all know, these are not my characters...

Arthur has had a terrible day. Being so busy that he needed to work all day on a Saturday could rarely rate as a good day, but today has been particularly bad. Actually, the entire week. Scratch that, it's been at least a month of back to back bad days and working through the weekends. All he wants is to order some take-out, curl up on the couch, and zone out to whatever mindless action flick he clicks on first. But as he opens the front door to his top-floor flat and hears the telltale sounds of another person inside, he remembers: he has a flatmate.

He'd actually forgotten. 

Regardless of the fact that he really couldn't, or at least wouldn't, have refused Lance's request that Arthur help out his mate, Arthur finds himself wishing that he'd done just that. The guy - Marlin? - had moved in last Saturday morning, right when Arthur, surprise surprise, had been rushing off to work. He'd barely caught a glimpse of him past the arm load of boxes the guy was bringing in, as Arthur said ‘make yourself at home’ and Marlin had replied ‘thanks so much, I really appreciate this.’ Arthur could have sworn that the git tripped over his own feet once he reached the spare second bedroom, but Arthur didn't have time to spare more than a curious glance in that direction at the sound. And after a few words with Lance, who had at least put his load down so he could talk to Arthur properly, Arthur had hurried out the door. 

Thanks to Arthur's early mornings and late evenings, plus Marlin's night classes, those were literally the only words they'd spoken to one another, despite having shared a flat for an entire week. But now...based on the noises coming from his kitchen, their streak is about to change, at the time when Arthur least wants to be sociable. Although, honestly, he's pretty sure that he'll never look forward to sharing his private space with someone else. When he gets home from long day after long day at the office, he's done with social niceties and wants nothing so much as peace and quiet. 

As if Marlin can read his thoughts, and is intentionally trying to annoy him, he begins belting out a song from the kitchen. “Saturday waits...Sunday always comes too late...Friday never hesitates…”

Ugh. Arthur shuts the door quietly, hangs his keys on the hook by the door, and stands there, contemplating the odds of making it into his room without being seen. He's pretty sure that he could make it, especially with all of the racket currently coming from the kitchen, but even if he did, he'd then be trapped in there all evening without food, drink, or his home theater. No, a miserable night as a prisoner in his own room sounds worse than braving the company of the clumsy oaf currently clattering around in his kitchen...slightly worse, at any rate.

Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he decides to compromise. He'll head to his room and shower before subjecting himself to the new flatmate.

\-----

Feeling much better, clean and refreshed, and more prepared to face a stranger in his own home, Arthur congratulates himself on his brilliance as he heads into the kitchen in just his sweats and a towel around his shoulders. “Evening Marlin.” 

“Oh, Arthur! Hi! Umm...it's...umm...actually...I'm Merlin, not Marlin.” As Merlin turns around, clearly startled, slightly wide-eyed, he drops his stir spoon to the floor, splattering tomato sauce across the pristine white floor and lower cabinets. “Ooops...I ummm… I hoped you'd be home in time for dinner. I've made spaghetti with vegan meatballs…”

“Yes, I can see that, Merlin.” Arthur interrupts sarcastically, eyeing the spattered sauce critically, and then trailing his gaze across the mess of Merlin's cooking. His kitchen, typically an ultra-modern solid white expanse unbroken by color or messes, is a chaotic jumble. How many pots and pans, plus his hitherto unused food processor, does it take to make spaghetti and meatballs?

“...just...umm...as a start toward thanking you for putting me up while I'm homeless...” Merlin picks up the spoon, then trails off as Arthur's words - and attitude - register, silent for a moment as his face shows his concern that Arthur might be angry with him, then morphing into a forced smile as he tries to maintain his pleasant, conversational tone. “Everything's ready now. I put the bread into the oven when I heard the shower cut off.”

Arthur tries for lighthearted humor, but what comes out of his mouth sounds more like the biting criticism that weeks of being overworked have built up on his tongue. “So, let me get this straight. In order to thank me, you've destroyed my kitchen?” He is surprised at the guilt that rises in his chest when Merlin's smile falters, so rather than continue to face that look, he returns to his room - surely not running away, he never runs away from anything - to put on a shirt. 

Merlin's muttered reply, accompanied by the clattering of plates and silverware, carries clearly through the flat, “If I'd known you were such a prat, I wouldn't have bothered. Apparently you'd prefer to sit by yourself eating takeout like every other night. What a complete dollophead.” Then in a lower pitched voice “Thank you, Merlin. That was a very nice gesture. I'd love to eat a home cooked meal for the first time all week.” Arthur sits on his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, waiting for Merlin to finish berating him before he returns. “You're welcome, Arthur,” Merlin is back to his normal voice, “It's actually lovely to have time to cook and to sit down for a meal with another human being. My week has been as busy as yours.” His voice gets fainter as he apparently moves to the dining table with his plate. 

Arthur trudges into the kitchen, guiltily resolving to be more pleasant through the meal to make up for his rude behavior, only to find that Merlin has already fixed him a plate. He takes a tentative bite, figuring it's best to get this out of the way while Merlin can't see him - in case it's awful - and finds that the sauce and noodles are great, but the meatballs taste like an odd combination of grass and dirt. He doesn't want to offend Merlin by not eating them. Struck by a moment of pure genius, he remembers that he has some leftover meatballs from the Italian place down the street, where he purchased dinner on Thursday, so he hides Merlin's meatballs in the trash and puts those on his spaghetti. He considers adding some of his favorite Caesar dressing to the salad, but it appears to already have oil and vinegar, so he decides to just go with the salad as is. Then, feeling prepared, he carries his plate and a jar of shredded Italian cheeses out to the dining room. 

He never eats in his dining room, since it's usually just him and whatever takeout he's picked up for the evening, but it looks different tonight. He takes a moment to absorb the melding of calming blue walls, cream-colored chairs and plush rug, the long cement-grey table, and most of all the raven-haired flatmate who has brought life to the room. The cluster of dark grey pendant lamps is turned down to its lowest mood lighting setting, and the candles in the center of the table are flickering their warm yellow light across everything. Somehow, Merlin has infused this room with the most peaceful atmosphere Arthur has ever felt in his flat, and Arthur resolves to spend more time in here in the future.

At the table, he takes a big bite, and after making exaggerated noises of appreciation, paraphrases Merlin's words from earlier back to him. “Thank you, Merlin. This was a lovely gesture. It’s great to eat a home cooked meal for the first time all week.”

If Merlin's blush means anything, he's obviously realized that Arthur could hear him, but his smile lights up his face as he plays along. “You're welcome, Arthur. I'm pleased to have time to cook and to finally have a chance to sit down and talk to you after our busy weeks.” 

His eyes drop to watch as Arthur shakes a large helping of cheese onto his spaghetti, and his smile falters. Arthur finds, for the second time that night, that he doesn't like being the cause of the dimming in Merlin's energy. “Sorry, force of habit. I always have parmesan on spaghetti, but yours didn't even need it.” He's rewarded with, if possible, an even larger smile, and a subtle relaxing of Merlin's entire demeanor...leading to an easy banter that carries them through dinner.

\-----

“You up for a movie?” Arthur finds himself suggesting as they rinse and load their dishes into the washer. Even though he'd initially planned to feign exhaustion and watch the new Bond movie on his laptop in bed, to give himself the solitude he'd been craving, the ease of conversation through dinner has changed his mind. Watching the new Bond movie on the big screen with Merlin sounds like a better plan. Besides, a James Bond movie should never be watched on a laptop. The screen size...not to mention speaker size...can't do justice for the explosions.

Merlin’s entire face lights up at the suggestion, and he switches back into what Arthur is beginning to think of as ramble-mode. “Sure! I've been eyeing your screen all week - what size is it exactly? - wishing I had some free time to watch the new Jim Jarmusch. I've heard it's great! Or, actually, have you seen Only Lovers Left Alive? I'd totally be up for watching that again, if you haven't.”

Arthur instantly regrets his momentary lapse of judgement in suggesting that they watch a movie together. He should have at least specified that he'd already settled on watching the Bond movie...but seriously, Merlin expects him to watch a romance? “No, Merlin. Sorry, I'm not a girl, so I haven't watched your chick flick.” That sinking feeling in his chest returns for the third time tonight as he banishes Merlin's excited smile yet again, but rather than give in to it, he continues. “Actually, I think I'm too tired for a movie, but you go ahead. Night Merlin.” He takes a sick comfort in the knowledge that there's no way Merlin will figure out how to turn everything on, so even if he wanted to, he won't watch a movie without Arthur. 

And once again, as he goes into his bedroom, he hears Merlin having both sides of an argument with him. “I'm not a girl either, Arthur, and Only Lovers Left Alive is an awesome vampire movie you arrogant clotpole. You'd probably really love it, if you gave it a chance.” And in his deeper Arthur voice, accompanied by the sounds of pots and pans being washed, “Oh, sorry to make a snap judgement like that based on the name, Merlin. You're right, I really am an utter clotpole. I should try harder to be a better flatmate.” Back to his own voice, “Yeah, cause right now, you're more of a pratmate.” 

Despite the fact that he's the target of that insult, he laughs as he gets ready for bed. The sick feeling in his stomach has nothing to do with guilt - definitely not. It's probably attributable to Merlin’s cooking. But whatever it is, it keeps him awake half the night.

\-----

The next morning, even though Arthur could sleep in since it's Sunday, he wakes early and heads to the office - choosing to work out in the on-premises gym and shower there rather than going for his usual morning run and showering at home. He definitely isn't doing this to avoid bumping into his flatmate, because he has no reason to avoid said flatmate. He has nothing to feel guilty about, and there's no reason for that slightly sickly feeling in his stomach every time he thinks about the previous evening. 

And even though he isn't avoiding Merlin - really he isn't - he somehow manages to do so for another entire week. And by then, he's had such a dreadful week at work, with mountains to do and not nearly enough time to get it all done, that he's almost managed to forget that he even has a flatmate, much less that they shared an almost pleasant, almost terrible evening together...until he arrives home on Saturday night.

Arthur barely stops himself from groaning out loud as he steps into the flat and hears the tell-tale sounds of Merlin in the kitchen again. And of course, more singing of eighties tunes that no self-respecting twenty-something should know by heart. 

“And if a ten-ton truck kills the both of us, to die by your side, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.”

Arthur recognizes the temptation to slink to his bedroom and decides instead to face Merlin head on this time. He'll just go straight into the kitchen, right off, say something pleasant like “Hi Merlin, I hope you had a nice week,” and start their evening on the right foot. Then he can head into his room for the rest of the night without having to interact with anyone, and without feeling guilty about it. 

Plan fully formulated, Arthur heads into the kitchen to put it into action. But the plan flies completely out of Arthur's head the moment he sees this week's mess. There's green goop spattered across the counter-tops, Arthur's blender and several other kitchen gadgets littered along the surface of the cooking island, a trail of rice granules around the floor from the cupboard to the stove and then to the sink, and puddles of water in front of both the sink and the fridge. He stands in the doorway, awestruck at Merlin's ability to completely destroy a kitchen in the process of making a single meal. 

When Merlin turns around from his position at the sink and sees Arthur, he shrieks like the girl Arthur accused him of being, and proceeds to slip in one of the puddles, falling to the floor and accidentally flinging the pot that he was holding across the room...straight at Arthur. When Arthur ducks out of the way, the pot smashes into the trim around the door, spraying more rice and more water onto Arthur, as well as pretty much every single surface of the kitchen.

Arthur is soaked, but that's nothing compared to the sight he sees at his feet. “MERlin!” he practically growls the name, as if it is a curse word, “Is that my Instant Pot?” 

“Ummm” Merlin has one hand over his heart, and the other rubbing the back of his head, but Arthur can't be bothered with that while his focus is wholly on the kitchen gadget that is now practically ruined on the floor.

“The one that I got for Christmas?”

“Yes?”

“The one that was still in the box, with the card indicating ‘To: Arthur, From: Your Father’ and is now scratched and dented?”

“Is it?”

“Yes, Merlin. It is. Don't you think it's going a bit far to use someone’s Christmas present before they even get a chance to use it? Especially when you're such a clumsy idiot that you ruin that present on the very first use?”

Apparently, Merlin has finally reached his breaking point. The point where Arthur has pushed him so hard that he actually answers to his face instead of once Arthur retreats into his room. “Well, you arrogant, supercilious cabbage-head, if you hadn't been standing in the doorway staring at me like a stalkery creep, I wouldn't have been startled half to death in the first place. Then I wouldn't have slipped and fell, which, yes, hurt quite badly, so thank you so much for your concern over the well-being of an inanimate object instead of your flatmate. I think I hit my head on the edge of the counter, and I most definitely bruised my hip where I landed, and I may have twisted my ankle. Plus my mp3 player is likely broken, because I think I landed on it. And besides, it's August.”

Arthur has a response prepared for each of Merlin's points - arrogant, supercilious cabbage-head is he? - and he's ready to launch into them when Merlin's final sentence registers. And somehow, that's the only comment that he replies to. “Yes, I know it's August, Merlin. What on earth does that have to do with anything? Your arguments are nothing but misdirects and non-sequiturs.”

“You haven't touched your Instant Pot in the eight months since Christmas, Arthur, so I think that invalidates your right to be angry with me for using a Christmas present before you did. Instant Pots are amazing. I've always wanted one, and they need to be used and loved to be happy. And this one - where in the world did you find a white one to match your kitchen? - is absolutely beautiful. You know that you're supposed to name them when you unbox them right? Yours told me its name is Aithusa. Besides, it was the only way I could hydrate the beans for my vegan green chili in time for dinner tonight.”

It suddenly occurs to Arthur that even though he's covered in uncooked rice and rice water, with his brand new, bent and scratched one-of-a-kind white Instant Pot at his feet, and his kitchen more of a mess than it has ever been, all of Arthur's stress has melted away through his argument with Merlin. The sight of his flatmate sprawled on the floor like a baby deer who can't keep his legs under his body might be part of the magical anti-stress spell as well. He would never admit it to anyone, especially not Merlin, but he realizes that it is highly possible, maybe even probable, that all he's needed these past several months - besides a day off, of course - is someone who sees him as an equal, who doesn't kowtow and yessir him to death. Arthur can bellow at Merlin because he isn't Arthur's subordinate, because there's no risk of Merlin suing Arthur if he takes offence, and because he's able - and apparently quite willing - to give as good as he gets...and rather than being annoyed by this, Arthur feels refreshed.

“Aithusa?? Now who is acting like a girl's petticoat, getting worried about the feelings of an inanimate object? It needs to be loved!” He imitates Merlin’s voice as a high-pitched little girl. “Just clean this mess up, you total buffoon. I'm going to shower before dinner.” God, it feels amazing to be rude and not worry about the consequences. Arthur feels a smile forming, but mostly manages to smother it.

Arthur can't decide if Merlin's answering grin is because Arthur didn't have a snappy comeback about using the Christmas present in August, and he therefore thinks he came out on top of the argument, or if it's because Arthur just casually agreed to eat dinner with Merlin again. Or maybe, just maybe, he enjoys their banter just as much as Arthur does. Either way, he absolutely doesn't spend his entire shower thinking about it. And he definitely doesn't feel any guilt about making Merlin clean his own mess. Why should he? It isn't as if the mess were at all his fault. 

Amazingly, the kitchen is spotless when Arthur emerges from his room, feeling more relaxed than he has since January...when...no, he won't think about that. He knows that he spends much too much of his time dwelling on it throughout the week. Tonight, he will forget, and allow himself to let loose the tight rein that he keeps on his tongue and his mind and his body. He doesn't have to impress anyone, or be respectful to anyone. Even better, there's no need to worry about potential lawsuits or press scandals from a misunderstood word or gesture. Arthur can't remember the last time that he was able to just be himself without thinking about consequences, but Merlin seems to like Arthur's actual personality just fine. He finds himself chuckling again about Merlin calling him his pratmate last week.

“Smells good, Merlin. What did you say we were having?”

“Vegan green chili. It's a recipe I made up myself, but it's one of my favorite meals now. I add shredded spinach, zucchini, yellow squash, onions, garlic, tofu, garam masala, and curry powder, with lots of extra turmeric and cumin, plus several types of beans.”

It's obvious that Merlin is passionate about cooking, but Arthur is now remembering the green goop that he saw on the counter earlier, and wondering whether this dish will even be palatable. To his horror, his mouth is already saying exactly what's on his mind. “Good Lord, Merlin, that sounds like utter shite. How could you even decide to combine those ingredients, much less think they taste good together?” 

Merlin’s smile is all confidence, as if he's certain that his meal will change Arthur’s mind. “S’ just one of my many skills.” He flips a valve on Arthur’s Instant Pot and steam begins spewing loudly toward the ceiling. Arthur is a bit worried that Merlin doesn't know what he's doing and the thing might explode. Pressure cookers have been known to do that from time to time, right? But Merlin still exudes confidence, so Arthur refuses to do anything less. When the steam slows, there's a quiet clunk at the back of the pot and Merlin expertly twists the lid, causing the machine - Aithusa, Arthur thinks with a sneer - to sing a jaunty little tune, and then sets the still steamy lid on the counter. It almost sounds happy, as if Merlin’s claim that it needs to be loved is true.

“You want rice?” Merlin holds up a bowl, ready to dish out a portion for Arthur. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Arthur fishes for an excuse to delay, then says, “Actually, you go ahead and start without me. I've just remembered a call that I must make.” 

Merlin just nods, but his disappointment is obvious in the fall of his shoulders and his heavy sigh. Arthur feels like a cad, but thinks it would probably be worse to taste that meal for the first time with Merlin watching him. Who knows how he'll react. It's definitely much better this way. As Arthur steps back into his bedroom and pretends to dial and chat with Morgana, he hears Merlin speaking in his exaggeratedly deep voice.

“Of course my urgent call can wait till after dinner, Merlin, considering all of the work you've put into this meal. It's obvious from the look of the kitchen that you've been in here most of the day. And even though I'm going out of my comfort zone to try new foods here, I promise that I won't be a prat about it.”

“But Arthur,” Merlin's normal voice replies, “I wouldn't want you to strain anything, trying so hard not to be a prat. I'll understand if you're unable to prevent pratishness completely. I'm just glad that you're willing to give my food a chance and to enjoy spending the evening in good company.”

“Thank you, Merlin, for understanding that my pratliness is a permanent condition. Very few people are able to stand being around my narcissistic, overbearing personality. If it weren't for you, I'd spend all my nights alone, pining for good company and home-cooked food.”

Arthur realizes that he's so busy straining to hear Merlin's two-sided soliloquy now that Merlin has moved into the dining room that he's no longer pretending to talk to Morgana. He loudly says goodbye into the phone as he heads to the kitchen, then returns his mobile to his back pocket. He takes a small taste of Merlin's chili, and is surprised to find that it's actually quite good. However, he thinks it would be even better with slices of his remaining sausage from dinner the previous night, so he quickly chops his leftovers into tiny bits and stirs them into his bowl. 

“Merlin, would you like a beer with dinner?” he calls to the other room. “I picked up a sixer of Fuller’s porter on my way home yesterday.”

Without waiting for Merlin's response, Arthur grabs two bottles by the necks, and his doctored bowl of chili and heads to the table. He sets one bottle in front of Merlin to a murmured “Thanks” around a mouthful of chili, then sits and pretends to taste the chili for the first time. “Mmm, this is surprisingly good, Merlin.” As Merlin's eyes light up at the compliment, Arthur can't stop himself from fulfilling Merlin's expectations of pratliness. “This chili actually reminds me of you. It's like a metaphor for Merlin.”

The pleased look on Merlin's face contorts into one of confusion, which Arthur finds he enjoys just as much. A crease appears between his eyebrows and his thick lips pucker and downturn slightly but not exactly into a frown. “How's that?” Merlin asks cautiously.

“Well, Merlin, you only appear to be a bumbling idiot, but you're actually somewhat capable. And this chili appears to be total rubbish but is actually somewhat palatable. Cheers mate.” Arthur punctuates his insult with a tip of his beer bottle and takes a long swig, finding himself enjoying the anticipation of Merlin's snarky response.

“Well, it's too bad that the initial impression you give of being a spoiled, arrogant brat is confirmed every time you open that posh, self-entitled mouth of yours. I really don't understand how Lance could possibly be friends with such a narcissistic clotpole, but it's gratifying to know that your opinion of me is low enough that I'll never have to worry about you claiming to be my friend. I'd never be friends with someone who could be such an ass.” 

There's a niggling fear in the back of Arthur's mind that perhaps he went too far, that he pushed Merlin to the point of true anger rather than merely continuing this strange banter that they've established. Merlin's earlier depiction of Arthur spending his nights alone pining for good company and home-cooked food paints a very true image in Arthur's head of how miserable he has been for so long in comparison to the joy he feels dining and arguing with Merlin.

But Merlin alleviates his worries when he continues, “Would your royal pratness be willing to hobnob with this commoner after dinner in order to enjoy that movie I suggested? Or is it, and am I, too far beneath you, oh honoured king cabbage-head?”

Since Merlin specifically limited the movie watching offer to that Lovers movie that he mentioned previously, Arthur suspects that Merlin really is stubborn enough that he'll refuse to watch anything else. So of course he has to bait him.

“As it happens, Merlin, I'm rather tired tonight, so watching something that meets your limited intellectual standards suits me just fine, even if it is a romance.”

“You say that as if it makes any sense to impugn my intellect when you're the one who is too thick to discern the difference between a vampire movie and a romance. On second thought, Only Lovers Left Alive is probably too cerebral for you after all. We should stick to mindless entertainment that was made for someone of your Neanderthal-like disposition...lots of action, no need for thought...perhaps the new Bond movie would be a better fit. At least you're more likely to understand what's going on in that one.”

Arthur really did want to see the new Bond movie, but admitting that at this precise moment somehow seems like agreeing that he is thick and can only understand action movies. “No, Merlin, although my tastes are certainly more refined than yours, I think I'd like to see what you consider to be cerebral.” Arthur stands up from the dining table, completely forgetting to take his dishes to the kitchen, and heads to the living room. “I'll turn on the reactor and get the movie loaded.” 

With all of his steady state amplifiers, the projector, the powered sub, and the pre-amp that processes the twelve point surround sound, turning on his stereo system really does sometimes seem akin to bringing up a nuclear reactor...well, at least in his mind. He actually has no idea what bringing up a nuclear reactor would entail, but he assumes there would be lots of buttons. Arthur can't even remember the last time he actually watched something in here, certainly not anything all this year. The buttery softness of his dark brown leather theater seats feels like a caress against his skin, and sitting in the center seat with the big screen in front of him, his speakers attuned perfectly to the room, and the rich maroon and bronze decor fading into darkness as he turns down the lights, his anticipation at watching this movie...any movie...is much higher than he would have expected. As he pulls up the movie and pays to rent it - looks like a romance movie advert, regardless of what Merlin claims - he realizes that the only thing missing is another beer.

Arthur really really doesn't want to get up. He's already done the electric foot rest up to precisely the spot that he prefers, and he's so comfortable… “Merlin? Mind bringing me another beer?” he shouts hopefully.

And before Merlin could have had time to grab one and head into the room, he's plopping a beer into each of their drink holders and settling into the seat next to Arthur. “Yeah, I thought of that while I cleaned up your dishes, prat. You know, my mum always had a rule that whoever cooked shouldn't have to clean up after dinner.”

“Yeah, well, my father's rule was that the cook made dinner and the housekeeper cleaned up afterwards, so I guess we had the same rule as you.” Arthur smiles the most condescending smile he can manage at Merlin, then clicks play to drown out his sure to be surly response. The intro music is turned sufficiently loud to cover most of Merlin’s mutters, but Arthur catches “arrogant”, “spoiled”, “entitled”, and “bumptious.” He's pretty sure that Merlin made that last word up, but doesn't bother to say so. Smothering a contented smirk, Arthur settles in to watch what already appears to be the exact opposite of his preferred movie genre.

\-----

As the beginning of the next weekend rolls around, Arthur stands up from his ebony desk, pushes his knuckles into the small of his back to ease the ache, and presses a button on his desk to open the blackout blinds that are typically at his back while he works. He looks out from the wall to wall windows that overlook the city, seeing people and cars scurrying around, preparing for a Friday evening, actually living their lives, and decides to take a day off for the first time since January...just a weekend day, mind, not during the work week. He's been coming home, if not on time, at least earlier than usual all week as well. And although he isn't doing either of these things in the hopes of spending more time with Merlin - of course he isn't - he can't quite lie to himself about the disappointment he feels each evening when he goes to sleep before Merlin even comes home from his classes. 

When he stops off at Morgana's office a few minutes later to let her know that he doesn't plan to work the next day, or maybe Sunday either, she's astonished, and very supportive of his decision. “Arthur, I'm very pleased to hear it. Gwaine and I have been worried about the hours that you’ve been putting in. Actually, several of the senior staff have asked me to put a stop to your weekend hours...Leon and Gwen in particular.”

“I haven't been working those hours because I've wanted to Morg. I've just stayed as long as needed to get everything done. But somehow, this week, even though I've worked fewer hours than any week since Father’s fatal heart attack in January, I've managed to get more accomplished.” Arthur stops talking, completely unable to proceed as he processes the fact that he's just managed to say the words ‘father’s fatal heart attack’ without causing a panic attack or mental breakdown of his own. Apparently there's a first for everything. Up till this very moment, he's had to substitute words that merely alluded to what happened in January. Otherwise the words have refused to even flow from his tongue. Morgana and her husband Gwaine are the only ones who've been truly aware of the depth of Arthur’s despair, of his mental hang-ups. Though Gwen is so perceptive that she has probably realized that Arthur is so tied up in knots inside that he can't actually say out loud that his father is dead. 

Couldn't say the words. Not until today anyway.

Shunted into the position of president and CEO of Camelot Industries literally overnight - everyone sympathizes with how difficult that must be, coming the same moment that he lost his father. Lost...He honestly hates that euphemism for death more than any other. “Sorry for your loss.” His father isn't lost. There's no hope of finding him. He won't suddenly be found and let Arthur go back to their original plan: taking over as president of the company slowly, over the course of the next year, and then someday, off in the distant future, take over as CEO from his father. No, his father died. No coming back. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Game over.

He's pulled from his reverie by the sensation of Morgana’s arms encircling him. He didn't even notice her getting up from her desk or walking around it to stand next to him. Maybe he's losing his mind. Losing…there's that word again. As he sinks into his sister's embrace, he has a vision of himself as an Instant Pot, full to bursting with pressure from all sides, and he's pretty sure that Merlin is the only person who has managed to find his release valve in over eight months. So when Morgana says “Go home, baby brother. Take the weekend off, and then consider taking next week as well,” he simply nods and doesn't even bother going back to his office for his briefcase or coat.

Arthur walks from the office back to his flat, even though he lives several miles from work. He needs to clear his head, and the chaos of the bustling city around him somehow provides the perfect backdrop for that. About an hour into his walk, it occurs to him that he could text Merlin to let him know that he's taking the weekend off, starting immediately...but after patting each of his pockets, he remembers that he left his mobile at the office.

He trudges along, hands in his pockets, feeling his shoulders and his mood hunch down with a depression so bleak it feels almost like despair. He welcomes the bleakness. He's spent every moment, both awake and asleep, since his father died avoiding the fact that his father is dead. Sure, he was only doing what needed to be done, working constantly to get everything at the office under his control. But the stress of it all has taken center stage all of this time, never allowing the sadness to have a turn.

Truthfully, the stress started to take control of him several months before his father died, back when the whole debacle that likely caused his father's heart attack began: when that horrid woman Catrina accused Uther of sexual harassment and filed a lawsuit trying to take a huge chunk of the company’s assets. It was ridiculous. His father hadn't so much as looked at a woman since Ygraine’s death, except to calculate whether she could somehow further his business goals. He would never have risked everything by putting himself in a position to be accused of sexual harassment. His company was all that mattered to him.

It hardly matters now. Uther is dead, and Arthur is finally letting himself grieve his father. He feels a warm tickle running down his cheek, and when he reaches up to scratch it, his hand comes away wet. It takes Arthur a moment, staring at his wet fingers, to realize that he's crying. He's actually crying. He can't remember ever having done so before, at least not since he was a toddler and was too young to understand his father's admonition that boys don't cry. That phrase has always reminded him of another eighties song, and his mind flits to his flatmate, wondering if he'd start singing right now, or maybe say something about Arthur actually being the girl now...

He takes the stairs to his flat, wanting to get inside, hoping not to be seen with tears streaming down his face, but also - strange as it may seem - not wanting to miss this moment. This bleakness is such a quiet feeling compared to the stress. He can almost envision that each tear is a drop of steam that has condensed on his face as pressure leaves his body. Maybe if he lets the sadness take him, lets the tears flow freely - perhaps in the shower, where even he doesn't have to know that they're there - maybe he can be himself again. The real Arthur, who he used to be. Not the workaholic automaton that he has been these past months, nor the total prat that he is to Merlin, but someone who is a bit of both of those. Hopefully, just maybe, the best bits of both of those.

But as he goes to unlock the door, he remembers that his keys are sitting with his mobile and his wallet, in his top desk drawer, so that none of them will cause a bulge in his suit pants. A president and CEO can't afford to look anything less than his best, of course, and pockets bulging with mobiles and keys and wallets look tacky, and also, bulging pants can lead to misunderstandings. These are things his father has taught him, but right now, he just wishes that he could get inside and have a good cry in the privacy of his flat.

He puts his back against the door and slides to the floor, and allows himself - going against everything his father has ever taught him - to have a complete meltdown of a cry in the hallway. With his feet propped on the floor so his knees are pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, and his face tucked into the whole pretzel of his body, he's practically in a seated fetal position, and he can feel the sobs shudder through his entire core, his breath coming in hiccups. 

And somehow, he thinks this might be the most cathartic moment of his entire life. He can feel grief for his mother's death, so long ago that he doesn't even have a memory of her except from home movies and photos, pouring out of his eyes. Grief for his father, dead in the prime of his life, but dead inside for so many years before that - his mourning for his wife so deep and all-consuming that he could no longer show love to his children. And in Arthur's grief, he suddenly sees the parallel road that he'd been on. His father poured all of his time and energy into Camelot Industries to try to assuage his anger and sadness over Ygraine’s death. And in response to Uther’s death, Arthur had been doing the same thing: pouring his life into the company, rather than living it.

Arthur untucks and unbuttons his shirt so he can use his undershirt to wipe his face. Without keys, he can't get inside or drive back to the office. Without his wallet, he can't hire an Uber to take him there. And without his mobile, he can't ask a friend for a favor. He sighs heavily and lets his head fall back to hit the door. It doesn't hurt, but the thunk it makes is somewhat satisfying, so he does it a second time. Then a third. One more, deep, self-pitying sigh, followed by rubbing his hands across his face...and then he'll stand up...and trudge back to the office in his dress shoes. But just as he leans into the door to push himself upwards, his front door opens, sending him tumbling backwards...into Merlin's legs.

“Arthur? What are you doing out here? Were you knocking?” Merlin offers him a hand up and pulls. They're standing a bit too close, but Arthur is so glad to see him that he doesn't step back. In fact, all of the bleakness of his walk and his cry, suddenly followed by this almost touching closeness to another human being - in fact the one other human in the world who has somehow provided exactly what Arthur has needed - has Arthur contemplating just closing the distance and going in for a hug. That would be two hugs in a single day. When was the last time someone hugged him? He's almost certain that lots of people did at the funeral, but he can't remember a single one. He was so numb that day. Oblivious to Arthur's inner turmoil, Merlin continues rambling, “How long have you been home? I was just getting ready to meet Lance and Gwen at the coffee shop. Percy's new band is playing tonight. Wanna come?”

When Merlin turns away and heads deeper into the flat, the moment is gone, and Arthur lets his thoughts move on as well. Arthur didn't even know that Percy was in a band. He would have thought that Morgana would mention something like that, since Percy is her husband's best friend, but then again, maybe she had. Maybe Gwaine had even mentioned it the last time he had dinner at their house, but honestly, Arthur can't even remember that they had any conversation at all while he was there...and when was that? It could have been two, maybe even three months ago, that he last accepted a dinner invitation from his sister. His friends had all stopped inviting him out even before that, when he started replying testily that “Yes, he would love to go out and enjoy himself with them, but he doesn't have a spare moment of time, and would they please just stop rubbing it in his face at every opportunity how much more enjoyable everyone else's lives are than his.” God, maybe he really is a pompous prat, like Merlin keeps insisting he is. He finally answers Merlin, “Yeah, I'd like that. Time for a shower?” Merlin’s answering smile is the sun coming out after a long and dreary winter.

Arthur steps out of his room, still buttoning his shirt, and yelling to Merlin, “I need to stop by the office for my keys and wallet on the way.” He stops in the hallway when Merlin emerges from his room, right across from him. Merlin has on a lovely deep blue jumper that brings out the color of his eyes and tight black skinny jeans, but he's paired it with..a garish red neckerchief? “What the hell are you wearing, Merlin?”

Merlin drops his arms from tying the hideous red triangle of fabric and asks, “Should I lose the scarf?”

And there's that word again...somehow hearing the word ‘lose’ paired with the most ridiculous article of clothing Arthur has ever seen, when so often this year it has meant the death of his father, throws Arthur into a tailspin. ”No, Merlin. I don't think you should lose the scarf. If you lose it, you might be able to find it again. You should certainly do something much more final with it...I'd recommend burning it to prevent it ever afflicting us with its presence again.” Arthur spins on his heel, steps into his room, and shuts his door on the sight of Merlin’s smile being shuttered as a result of Arthur’s verbal attack...yet again.

He stays right there, back to the door, and sighs, sliding to the floor to put his head in his hands in an echo of his earlier pose. So Merlin’s response carries to him perfectly through the door.

First as pretend Arthur, “No Merlin, I think the outfit would be better without the scarf.”

And then Merlin, “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing, but my mum gave me the scarf for my birthday. It arrived in the post today, since today is my birthday, and she's good about those sorts of things, so I thought I should be a good son and wear it. It isn't as if she'll see me to know, but she might see photos if we post them online, and it would make her happy to know I wore it.”

Back to his Arthur voice, “Yeah, you should definitely…

But Arthur has heard enough, and yanks open the door. “Shit, Merlin, it's your birthday? Happy birthday! Wear the damn scarf and let's go have fun!”

\-----

The moment they enter Lance’s coffee shop, two things are clear to Arthur. First off, Lance isn't the only one of his friends who knows and loves Merlin. Apparently, they've all accepted him into their circle during Arthur’s absence this year. Gwen and Gwaine head straight in for hugs as soon as Merlin is in the door, and everyone else shouts a friendly hello to him accompanied by wide smiles. Arthur, entering behind Merlin is practically ignored for the moment. Which suits him just fine actually. And secondly, Arthur is the only one of his friends who didn't already know that August 30th was Merlin’s birthday. There is a tidy stack of presents, wrapped neatly in an assortment of childish paper, sitting on a table in the corner, and a beautiful three-tiered chocolate cake on the counter with giant number candles 2 and 0, indicating that Merlin is turning twenty today.

Merlin practically squeals his delight, “Ooh God, Lance, is that your triple chocolate orgasm vegan cake? I'm the luckiest birthday boy on the planet!” 

Lance yells back from behind the counter, “No orgasms in my coffee house, Merlin, but yes, it's your favorite triple chocolate vegan cake.” 

Gwaine raises an eyebrow to Lance and points out, “I'm pretty sure that I've seen you and Gwen lock up the coffee house at the end of the night and not get home for hours….you sure you're telling the truth there, mate?” 

As Merlin yells back, “Stop crushing my dreams, Lance. You know that I just fancy hearing you talk dirty, since you'll never be mine!”

“No wonder you act like such a child,” Arthur finds himself saying under his breath to Merlin, “You actually are one!” Arthur feels like he must be fifty years older than Merlin instead of only three, considering the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and their respective maturity levels.

Merlin simply laughs his delight at Arthur's comment, “Come on, old man, let's mingle!”

The large round table in the corner next to the present table is already set for their group, and Arthur is surprised to see Lance leave the counter to sit with them until a blonde girl stumbles over to take their orders. Only Merlin notices Arthur’s confusion, and leans in to explain, “Albion Coffee is doing so well that Lance hired three baristas to help him run the place.”

“But he's only just opened. His business plan was to be the sole employee until he was making enough money and had enough business to afford to hire. Gwen had me double check the plan before he opened. I find it hard to believe he's doing that well so soon.”

“Arthur, he opened over a year ago, and only ran it by himself for the first three months. Elena here was his first employee, then Sefa, who is off weekends to take care of her father. Later, when the band starts up, he'll probably have Kara working too. Her boyfriend, Mordred, is the drummer in Percy’s band.” 

Arthur feels that sadness creeping up on him again as it occurs to him how much he's missed. He tries to cover it up by sniping at Merlin, “What makes you the expert?”

“My uncle Gaius owns the bookstore next door. I moved here to work for him while I go to school, right after Lance opened the coffee shop. I was living in the flat above my uncle's shop when I first arrived, and that's how we met.”

“Oh.” Arthur mulls this over for a moment while he looks at the menu, then asks, “If you have a place to live, why did you need to move in with me?”

“My uncle's flat had been unoccupied for years. When I started living there, it quickly became apparent that the building needed some serious renovations.” Merlin's grimace of distaste highlights just how bad it must have been. “Did Lance not tell you any of this?”

Honestly, Arthur can't remember that Lance provided any details at all about Merlin’s situation, but he must have, right? “Uh, no, I don't think so.” 

“So why did you agree to let me move in with you?”

“Because Lance asked me to?” Arthur says this with such nonchalance, phrasing it as a question, as if there is no other possible answer. In truth, there's no other possible answer, because Arthur had no desire or need for a flatmate, but when Lance asked it as a favor...well, Arthur wouldn't turn him down.

Merlin chuckles. “Careful Arthur, if you keep doing things like that, you might ruin your pratly image.”

Arthur punches Merlin on the shoulder in retaliation. “Oi, I'll have you know that no one else thinks I'm a prat but you.”

“Nah, they all think it. I'm just the only one who'll say it to your face. When Lance suggested I move in with you, he warned me that you're a complete dollophead.”

“Now I know you're lying, because you made that word up, and you're the only idiot who uses made up words as insults.” Wanting to change the subject, and needing to make a choice before the waitress asks for his order, Arthur points at the menu. “Oh look, Merlin, they have Vegan options on the menu now. You can even get a Vegan cappuccino.” Then to the waitress - Elena, was it? - “I'll have that. A Vegan cappuccino. Annnnnnnd...the Vegan biscuits and almond gravy.” 

After everyone finishes ordering, Gwen, who always pays attention to details, especially where their friends are concerned, asks Arthur, “I never pegged you to eat vegan, Arthur. When did that happen?” 

“Oh, well, Merlin has been cooking for me ever since he moved in, and I've found it to be surprisingly good.” Merlin's beaming smile makes Arthur's insides feel as gooey as he expects the chocolate cake is going to be. Why does Merlin's approval make him feel so contented? Feeling his cheeks heat in response, Arthur tries to deflect the attention off himself. “Maybe you guys can resolve a little disagreement we've been having. Have any of you seen Only Lovers Left Alive?” When several of their friends nod, Arthur continues, “Well, Merlin here claims that since it's about vampires, that means it isn't a romance. But I say that a movie that focuses almost all of its action on uniting the two main characters is a romance whether or not their dinner dates consist only of drinking blood.”

Arthur is pleased when his friends begin debating, and all of them seem to agree with him. He has always been competitive, but somehow winning an argument against Merlin feels even more rewarding than usual. There are several comments along the lines of “Yeah, I think I'd call it a vampire romance,” before Merlin timidly admits his own agreement.

“I didn't really mean to say that it wasn't a romance, just that it wasn't a chick flick romance. I actually think it's one of the most beautifully filmed movies I've ever watched, and there's something compelling about the idea of a love that lasts through hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. They're immortal, so they can love each other...forever. That's just...I dunno...it just speaks to me.”

“They're apparently not completely immortal though,” Arthur counters. “And what would Eve's existence be like if Adam had died? If he'd killed himself? That seems a fate worse than just living a human lifespan with someone you love. Can you imagine pining for your dead lover as centuries pass you by? That's not a fate I'd sign up for!”

“Some loves are just too deep to be contained to a single lifespan though. To have experienced a love that deep, to have loved your soulmate...it seems worth the eventual pain to have experienced the bliss. Besides, it doesn't hurt that Tom Hiddleston is a complete dish.”

To which both Gwen and Morgana add their own enthusiastic agreement. Gwaine immediately teases Morgana about expressing her appreciation for another man, but she points out that he even said the same thing when they watched the movie. “Besides, you know I love men with long, dark hair, right? And even though he's a sexy vampire, his hair has nothing on yours, love.” She runs her fingers through her husband's silky brown locks as she leans in for an admittedly chaste kiss.

Still, Arthur can't help protesting. “Ugh, ok ok, enough of that discussion. Morgana, you know it's TMI to have that kind of lovey-dovey talk around your brother, right? Someone tell me more about Percy's new band.” 

The conversation, and food and drink, flow freely among the group until Percy and the Knights take the stage. And then, although the conversation and food stops, and the drinks slip from coffee to beer, the comfortable camaraderie with his friends continues. Arthur is amused to see that his VP of sales, Leon, is part of the band - playing keyboard. And Gwen's brother Elyan is on bass. He's amazed that Percy, the quietest person he's ever met, is a phenomenal singer, guitarist, and front man.

Arthur is surprised, when they finally head home, at how late they'd stayed out. He'd felt almost….normal...and actually had a lovely time. 

As he and Merlin climb the stairs to their flat, arms looped over shoulders, leaning on one another as a result of maybe a bit too much beer, Arthur looks down at the oversized gift bag that now holds all of Merlin's birthday presents - topped by a large stuffed golden dragon that had Merlin squealing like a girl, hugging it, and declaring that he'll call it Kilgarrah - and is determined to find a present that Merlin loves even more.

The only problem is - Arthur doesn't know much about his flatmate. He loves to cook, he apparently loves dragons, he knows the lyrics to old eighties songs that Arthur barely recognizes, and he works in his uncle's bookshop. He also likes dishy male vampires, his subconscious adds. That's pretty much the extent of it. The list doesn't exactly lend itself to determining the perfect birthday present.

After helping a very unsteady Merlin get to his room without mishap, Arthur gets ready for bed, still focused wholly on the question of the perfect present. When he climbs into bed, he grabs his laptop and types “Albion birthday cooking dragon” into the search engine. “What the hell,” he mutters to himself, “it isn't as if Google can make fun of me for putting in a stupid search phrase.” Instead of making fun, Google rewards him with an idea beyond anything he'd hoped. He snaps a screenshot, forwards it to his phone, then out to his friends with the message “Sunday at 17:30. Merlin’s birthday, round 2. Who's in?” Happily, everyone replies in the affirmative with varying levels of excitement, and Arthur types in his credit card number to complete the ticket purchase.

Arthur shuts his laptop, turns off the bedside lamp, and curls up to go to sleep. If sleep is a long time coming, it has everything to do with his excitement over his plan for Sunday and nothing to do with his mind replaying the absolutely obscene sounds his annoying flatmate made whilst eating his chocolate birthday cake. Of course it doesn't.

\-----

Arthur sleeps in on Saturday morning. Sure, he was out late the night before, and that plays into it, but today is literally his first day off all year. He didn't set his alarm last night, and it feels positively luxurious to roll over, pull his feather duvet up around his shoulders, and go right back to sleep after his first brush with morning awareness. 

When he finally does decide to get out of bed, he heads straight for the garden tub in his en suite and runs a steaming hot bath. He plops in a sandalwood scented bath bomb that Gwen gave him for Christmas last year - he's pretty sure that she said she'd made them herself, and he hopes that he's using it right. A long lazy soak surrounded by one of his favorite scents is just what he needs to pass the time until he can make plans for the day with Merlin. Arthur soaks until the tub gets cool, then drains it whilst running more hot water until it's nice and steamy again. When he finally emerges from the tub, his fingers and toes are all completely shriveled, his skin is a rosy pink from the heat, and his shoulders have less tension in them than he can remember. Merlin is sure to wake up soon, he figures, since he slept so late and spent so long in the tub.

But as Arthur slips his undershirt over his head, he glances at the clock. “Bloody hell, it's only 7:24?” There no way that Merlin will be awake any time soon...and there’s another whole day to go yet until the big reveal. 

Arthur wanders into the kitchen, thinking that the sounds and smells of breakfast being cooked might wake Merlin and provide him with some company. But as he contemplates all of his kitchen gadgetry - and idly wonders why his family continues to buy such things for him, when everyone knows that he's completely useless in the kitchen - he admits to himself that he's not going to try to wake Merlin with a home-cooked breakfast. If he tried to make anything more complex than toast, the only smell likely to wake Merlin would be smoke.

Grabbing his keys, wallet, and mobile, and stopping at the front door to slip into his shoes, Arthur heads back to Albion Coffee. Since he has a bit of time to kill, he nurses another Vegan cappuccino before ordering breakfast. Thinking about how much he enjoyed his Vegan biscuits and almond gravy last night, he orders the same again, but asks for two eggs sunny side up on top. The waitress - Elena? - eyes him a bit funny when he orders, but he chalks it up to her trying to remember his name, just as he's trying to remember hers. 

While he waits for his breakfast, he puts the finishing touches on his birthday plan by phoning in a special request. At first, the elderly gentleman who answers the phone huffs an exasperated “Dragon? Well, that's highly unusual. I’m afraid not!” at him, but when he learns that Arthur has purchased all twenty tickets for tomorrow’s 17:30 session, he grudgingly agrees to Arthur's request.

Arthur sends another text out to all of his friends, mentioning that they have several spare tickets, and asking if there's anyone else that Merlin might like to have join them. Lance, Percy, and Morgana all have ideas, and before long, all twenty spots are filled. Arthur is elated at how well his plan is turning out. He's certain that Merlin will be delighted.

When his food arrives, he orders a second order of the biscuits and gravy to take home for Merlin, and digs in to the deliciousness while Merlin’s takeout is being prepared. Before he leaves, he adds a few pastries to his order - more Vegan options, of course - and then heads home to make plans for his relaxing weekend off.

Of course Merlin is still asleep...even though it's after eleven when Arthur arrives home...and the foods that he's brought with him just don't fill the house with their aroma the way home cooking does. “The smell of bacon would awaken him,” grumbles Arthur to himself, as he wonders just what the trick is to cooking bacon and having it turn out perfect. The one time he tried to make it, half of each piece was burnt to a crisp whilst the other half was still floppy and uncooked. It didn't even smell nice. 

Arthur sets Merlin’s food on the kitchen island, and wanders around the flat, at a loss for how to entertain himself. It's been so long since he's had a moment of downtime that he seems to have forgotten how to relax. The bath was a great choice...But what other relaxing activities has he been missing?

His home theater catches his eye, and with a slightly guilty glance at Merlin’s closed door, then another at his watch...almost noon...He makes his decision. “James Bond it is. Merlin should be awake by noon anyway.” He bustles around the house for several minutes, gathering items and killing time, to assuage his guilt over the rude awakening he's about to provide his flatmate. But eventually, he heads in to turn on his reactor, as he always calls it.

Although he usually skips the previews and ads on his bluray discs, today, he decides to watch them all, assuming - correctly - that the noise will wake Merlin in time to catch the beginning of the film. Sure enough, just as the screen goes black, and the opening credits are about to begin, Merlin plops into the seat beside Arthur, container of biscuits and gravy in one hand, and a fork clutched in the other. Arthur is just about to admonish him that he never allows anyone to eat in his leather theater seats, but as he turns his attention to Merlin to do so, he's struck by how ridiculously adorable his dark-haired flatmate is, even when hungover. Perhaps especially so...with his hair sticking out in all directions, a slight curl to it, his eyes slightly squinty as if the brightness of the dark room is too much to bear, and still dressed in soft-looking Harry Potter pajamas. He looks like a teenager, in his little boy PJs, stuffing his mouth with food, like he's ravenous. Arthur supposes that it makes sense for him to look like a teenager, since he was one just two days ago. “Paracetemol?” is what he ends up saying instead, as he offers the bottle that he grabbed from his bathroom earlier.

“Mmm, thanks,” is Merlin’s barely audible reply, around a bite of biscuit, and, without moving any more than absolutely necessary, holds his palm out for Arthur to shake a couple of pills into it, rather than taking the bottle as Arthur had intended. As Merlin pops the pills into his mouth then chases them with a large sip of the water that Arthur put into his cup holder earlier, the opening credits trail off into the action, and they settle into the comfortable silence of movie watching...if explosions and car chases and gun shots can ever be called comfortable.

When the movie ends, Merlin rolls his head to face Arthur, without moving any other part of his body, which is reclined as far as the leather theater seats will go...practically lying flat. Seeing this from his peripheral vision, Arthur does the same, a questioning look on his face. 

“I don't wanna move.” mumbles Merlin, “feel like watching another?”

“Sure.” Arthur's reply is just as groggy. “Anything in particular?”

“Hmmm...honestly couldn't care less. Action is keeping me awake though...are you caught up on Marvel movies?” 

Of course Merlin would be into Marvel movies...it's right up his geeky alley. Arthur hasn't had time to watch a series of movies, even a loosely tied together series like the MCU, since he graduated from uni two years ago. And actually, even before that, he was so focused on staying top of his class and captain of the football team - to make his father proud - that he hardly had time then. “Umm, I think the last one I saw was….Guardians of the Galaxy?” He isn't really sure, because maybe Age of Ultron came out after that?

“Aww, that's a great movie. Did you prefer the first Guardians or the second?”

“There are two of them?” Arthur didn't even know they'd made a sequel.

Merlin has gotten a little more animated, a bit closer to his usual demeanor, in talking about a subject that he obviously enjoys. “Oh sheesh!” He smacks himself on the forehead. “I think we might need to start from the beginning and binge watch them all!”

“What? Seriously? I've already seen several of them, do people actually waste time starting back from the first one?” Arthur is amazed that anyone would have that kind of time on their hands to just...waste.

“Ummm, yeah…” Merlin’s cheeks color slightly in the bright light of Arthur’s home theater PC wallpaper reflecting off the projector screen. “I rewatch shows all of the time before a new season comes out...or...more often, I reread each book in a series before a new one releases. That's the only way to thoroughly enjoy a new book, for me.”

Arthur is flabbergasted. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! What's the point? Only a pea-brained imbecile would need to do that. I remember the movies I've seen well enough to enjoy the others without wasting several hours rewatching.”

Merlin laughs derisively. “Ok, Mr. Smarty-Prat, tell me which infinity stones you know about and where they are currently located.”

“What the heck is an infinity stone and why should I care where they're located?” Arthur might not want to waste time watching movies he's already seen, but he's enjoying wasting time arguing with Merlin too much to admit that he kind of remembers that the Guardians had a purple stone, and maybe there was one in Loki’s scepter…it gave off blue light, right?

Apparently, Merlin has had enough arguing, however, because he jumps up from the couch without putting the electric footrest down - which breaks another of Arthur's rules for protecting his theater seating - and disappears down the hall toward his bedroom. Arthur hears the faint bumps and scrapes of boxes being moved around and maybe items being tossed out of boxes for several minutes, and then Merlin returns with a box of blu ray discs. “This is my MCU collection. I have every one of them, and we should watch them in chronological order.” Without asking, he presses the button to open the DVD tray, and inserts Captain America. “Didn't you say that you took tomorrow off too? We can make it through probably four tonight, and maybe six or seven more tomorrow.”

“Merlin, you total buffoon, there's no way that we're watching ten or eleven movies between now and tomorrow night. We have to stop to eat sometime, several sometimes actually, and tomorrow evening is your bir...well...I umm...I have plans.”

As Merlin sits back down and reaches across Arthur for the remote to click play, he eyes Arthur's waistline with a mischievous grin, “Wouldn't hurt to skip a couple of meals, actually.”

Arthur's momentary distraction over Merlin practically climbing across his body is broken by Merlin's implication. “Are you calling me fat?” He lunges toward Merlin - completely ignoring his own rules about taking care of the theater seats - grabs Merlin in a headlock, and begins tickling Merlin relentlessly. “Take that back, idiot. We both know it isn't true.” Although there's a small part of Arthur that worries that maybe he actually has put on a bit of weight, and is concerned that maybe he isn't as dishy as the vampire in that movie, most of Arthur's thoughts are focused wholly on the present...the complete and utter lack of decorum, restraint, and maturity that he's currently exhibiting, and the amazing feeling of letting loose. Still keeping a squirming and laughing Merlin's body held tight up against his chest, he curls his free hand into a fist and uses it to rub Merlin's head. “Say it, Merlin. Admit that I'm not fat!”

Another couple of seconds, and Merlin gasps out, “Ok. Ok!! You're not fat Arthur!” When Arthur releases him, he sits up, wraps his arms around his heaving torso, and takes several deep breaths to replace all of the air that he giggled out. Then, as he seems to have mostly caught his breath, he leans as far away from Arthur as his seat allows, tucks his knees up against his chest, and repeats with a huge smile, “You're not fat. Your body is just a couple of inches away from perfection.” 

Arthur pounces on him and continues tickling with renewed vigor, though Merlin's defensive posture thwarts his attacks better than before. Arthur pins Merlin's body between his thighs to prevent escape, and the first several minutes of Captain America: The First Avenger play without any notice from the tickle combatants. 

When they finally sit up, mutually agreeing to a truce without any need for words, and start watching the movie, Arthur ponders the statement that Merlin just made more than he pays attention to Steve Rogers being rejected from enlisting. At the first quiet moment of the movie, Arthur gloats, “You realize that you just called me almost perfect?”

Merlin doesn't reply for a few minutes, until after Steve is subjected to the super serum process. “Just so you don't get any more narcissistic, that's a perfect body.” He points with a simple nod toward the bare-chested, golden-skinned, god-like super soldier on screen.

Arthur can't really argue with that, so he simply replies, “Shut up, Merlin.”

After the movie, Merlin nerds out a bit as he swaps Captain America for Iron Man, explaining that they should really be watching the Agent Carter tv shows before the first Iron Man movie, but since Arthur has already made it very clear that he doesn't even foresee having the time to watch all of the movies in the MCU, Merlin will skip those. 

They end up watching both Iron Man and Iron Man 2 with just a short break in between for Merlin to shower, during which Arthur makes popcorn in his theater popcorn machine. He smugly points out to himself that he can make both toast and popcorn.

By the time they finish Iron Man 2, the sun is setting outside, but neither pays it any attention. There really isn't a better way to spend a hungover day than to watch movies all day. But they're both starving.

Merlin has a plan for dinner. “Arthur, prepare yourself for a treat! Tonight, I'm making my famous vegan burgers! Care to help me, so that we can get done in time to watch The Hulk?” Arthur doesn't bother to mention that he doesn't have a clue how to use a single one of his kitchen gadgets - of course he doesn't - nor does he point out that he can't make anything except toast and popcorn. “Would you mind if we invited everyone over for dinner and a movie? I'm making enough burgers anyway, and you certainly have enough seating.”

Arthur agrees and begins texting their friends. 

As Merlin pulls out more ingredients than Arthur thought would go into a complete banquet, much less into a single dish - aren't burgers usually very simple? - Arthur’s concern over eating Merlin’s cooking returns. Onions, two types of mushroom, spinach, sweet potatoes, three different kinds of beans in separate glass containers from the fridge, a box of millet - is that a food? - and another box of something called quinoa - what in the world is that anyway? Sounds like a brand name drug that would cost thousands of dollars - are all piled onto the counter. “Luckily, I started soaking the beans for this on Thursday. That'll speed up the process considerably.” Merlin prattles about his recipe and the process for cooking it, oblivious to Arthur's inner panic over the complexity of the dish that Merlin is expecting him to help with. “Would you mind grabbing the food processor for me, Arthur?” Merlin’s back is to him, so he doesn't notice as Arthur stares blankly at his shelf of kitchen gadgets, trying to remember which one is a food processor.

“Actually, Merlin.” Arthur tries to cover his confusion regarding his own kitchen tools as Merlin turns around questioningly, “I'm going to shower while you cook.” 

When he shuts the door to his room, he hears the now familiar deep tones of Merlin speaking for him en absentia. “Merlin, would you mind cooking without my help again tonight? I could really use a shower right now.” And answering, “Sure, Arthur, thanks for asking so nicely, instead of being a total prat about it” those last four words said more loudly than the rest, and probably aimed at Arthur’s door. “It's really great that you don't just assume that I'll make dinner without your help, as if you're royalty and the rest of us are your servants, merely put upon this earth to take care of you.” 

Arthur chuckles at Merlin’s griping and shouts from his room as he strips and heads into the bathroom, “Merlin, it isn't an assumption. You actually were put on this earth just to take care of me. And you're doing a crappy job of it. I'm starving!”

Arthur emerges from his bedroom more than a half hour later to find that Merlin has somehow turned all of those random ingredients into patties that look remarkably like hamburgers, though the color and texture are both slightly off. Merlin has just finished putting two of them onto buns and added some lettuce, yellow tomato, thinly sliced red onions, and a drizzle of a creamy looking red sauce from the blender. On the side of each plate is a small pile of sweet potato fries. As Arthur picks a fallen piece of the burger off his plate and pops it into his mouth, Merlin tells him, “Everyone texted back that they couldn't make it tonight. They all said some variation of ‘practicing for tomorrow,’ whatever that's supposed to mean. So it's just the two of us.”

Merlin looks a bit crestfallen by this, and Arthur wants to cheer him up, so he tells him, “Hmm, these are pretty good, Merlin.” He continues chewing, then dips his finger into some of the sauce and sucks it into his mouth with the remainder of the bite. “The sauce adds a nice flavor too. Buttttt.” He draws the word out as he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a couple of items. “These would really kick them up a notch.” He feels triumphant at his ability to add something to the meal, that he knows will blend perfectly with the flavors that Merlin has already put together. He adds two slices of precooked bacon and then spreads some goat cheese onto his bun, then offers to do the same to Merlin's burger before he notices the horrified look on Merlin's face.

When Merlin finally breaks the silence in the room, it's obvious that he's forcing himself to speak calmly and politely, when he would really prefer to be yelling. “Arthur, I'm vegan. Even if you don't want to eat vegan, why would you offer to add bacon and goat cheese to my food?”

Arthur can't help showing his confusion, though he tries to cover it with a scornful tone. “What does being Vegan have to do with that?

Merlin doesn't have the same compunction as Arthur about showing his weaknesses, so his confusion is written plainly across his face in the form of his puckered brow, pursed lips, and narrowed stormy blue eyes. “What?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly, then starts again. “Arthur? What do you think I mean when I say I'm vegan?”

“Well, Lance told me that you were from some small village in Ireland?” Arthur is starting to wonder if maybe - just perhaps - he has made some incorrect assumptions, but he doesn't like the way that this uncertainty chases away his usual confidence and makes his statement sound like a question.

Merlin's confusion seems to have taken up residence in him, “Yes….ummm….yeah, I am from a small village in Ireland. Umm...wh...why?” Merlin grabs his plate, saying, “Let's eat before this gets cold.” and heads into the dining room.

Without thinking, Arthur falls back on his usual banter, and demands, “Are you giving me orders now, Merlin? Enjoy bossing me around do you?” But it's half-hearted because most of Arthur's concentration is still focused on unraveling the questions that he and Merlin were just dancing around.

Merlin's response is just as automatic, “It certainly doesn't feel bad.” He takes a huge bite of his burger, thinking while he chews, then after swallowing asks, “Arthur, where do you think I'm from?”

Arthur takes a moment to finish his bite before answering, then says, somewhat evasively, “From Ireland, as I've just mentioned.”

“Yes, but what do you think my village is called?”

Arthur has already come to the conclusion that his earlier assumption is probably false, but he puts as much confidence as he can muster behind his response, following it up with his most charming smile, “Vega, of course.” For good measure, he follows with, “These Vegan burgers are fantastic.”

Merlin matches Arthur's smile with one of his own, which continues to grow wider and wider until Merlin is cackling with laughter. Arthur is certain that Merlin isn't laughing at him, because why would he? But he feels his cheeks heat as if they know something that he doesn't. Merlin eventually contains his laughter enough to manage a breathless, “My village is called Ealdor.”

Arthur isn't sure why this is so hilarious, and absently wonders why food from Ealdor would be called Vegan, but continues to eat as if he isn't bothered by this, nor by Merlin's occasional inability to contain bursts of laughter. 

“I'm glad you like the burgers, Arthur. I made them without any animal products, which is what makes them vegan. So adding bacon and goat cheese sort of ruins the whole point. I'm having vegan burgers, but you...well...you are having hypocrite burgers!” Merlin smiles at his joke, but Arthur can tell that both the joke and the smile are intended to soften the sting of being corrected. He returns the smile, and considers, as he continues eating, all of the times that he has added cheese and meat to Merlin’s cooking over the past few weeks. 

Even though Merlin doesn't know about that, Arthur feels a bit guilty. To alleviate the guilt, he decides to tell Merlin about his birthday gift now rather than surprising Merlin when they arrive tomorrow. “Merlin, I'd like to give you your birthday gift a day early. I'll be right back.” He gets up from the table to retrieve his laptop, wishing that he'd had the foresight print the information and put it into a card.

Merlin replies to Arthur’s back, “A day early? You mean a day late, cabbagehead. My birthday was yesterday.”

Arthur returns with the laptop and opens it with the information for The Great Albion Bake Off pulled up. “Happy birthday, Merlin! Everyone’s going to compete tomorrow, and since we booked the entire competition, I've convinced them to go with a dragon theme, since you're such a girl over dragons.”

Merlin’s initial confusion at why Arthur is shoving his laptop in front of him quickly morphs to elation at the prospect of participating in one of his favorite competitions, and then amps up, if possible, even higher when he hears that the theme is dragons. But just as quickly, his happiness turns to panic. “Arthur, did you say everyone else is competing? That's what they meant about practicing for tomorrow. Everyone else has had all day today to prepare, except for me!” Merlin jumps up from the table, carrying his plate to the kitchen, and runs to his room to find his recipe book. He comes back in a few minutes later, with a stack of recipe books in his arms, so absorbed with flipping through recipes that he isn't looking where he's going. His mind is obviously moving a thousand miles per minute, and only some of his thoughts make it out of his mouth. He plops the stack of books onto the dining room table, spreading them out to allow easier access to all of them at once. “Since you were able to specify some of the rules specifically for my birthday, did you limit everyone to vegan recipes?” He doesn't give Arthur time to respond before he answers his own question. “No, of course you didn't. You didn't even know what vegan meant.” He continues muttering about possible recipes and then discarding them. Suddenly, he looks up at Arthur, who is just sitting at the table, watching Merlin and gloating to himself about what a great present he chose - not admiring his flatmate, certainly not - and asks, “Oh god, I almost forgot...each team has two people, right? Who's my partner? Please tell me it's Lance!”

When it becomes clear that he's actually going to give Arthur a chance to respond, Arthur finally admits, “I'm pretty sure that Lance and Gwen will be paired. They were really excited about it. I guess...I'm your partner?…everyone else paired off kind of automatically.”

Merlin slumps into the nearest chair, sighing defeatedly. “Arthur, you are probably the only person in the world who could give the most perfect birthday gift ever given…” despite Merlin's dismal body language, Arthur positively beams at this admission, “...and manage to turn it into the worst.”

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. The Birthday Bake-Off

I had several people mention that they were bookmarking this story to keep track of it's sequel: Merlin's Birthday Bake-Off. I am therefore updating this chapter to let you know that the sequel is now complete. (Hooray!!!) I apologize if that causes any confusion.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like the story...it was originally intended to be about 5k words, a plot bunny that came to me while I was making hypocrite burgers, as described herein...but Arthur insisted on walking home and having a meltdown, and then was even more insistent about getting Merlin a birthday present, and it couldn't just be something simple. So the abrupt ending was my way of letting Arthur have his way, but also ensuring that Merlin's birthday cook-off gets the attention it deserves by making it a separate story.
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who noticed the very veiled nod to Spaced (Simon Pegg).
> 
>  
> 
> (The continuation is in work, but going more slowly than I'd hoped due to a death in the family. My apologies for the delay!)


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